The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

How do you tell someone that they mean a lot to you because a few words stringed together would never do justice to how they make you feel. How someone feels like a beautiful clear day you'd watch after a stormy night, both of them magnificent on their own but we wouldn't appreciate one if the other weren't present. How someone feels like the hands that guide the paper boats in rainy season, while all the others watched theirs sink. How someone feels like the type of person you have always wanted to meet but never knew until you started talking to them. Someone that carried the burdens of her life on her shoulders yet laughed so brightly that your heart eases just a little knowing that she's here. She saw the world for its cruelty and kindness. She saw everyone for their insecurities and strengths. But she was kind about it, undeniably. And I saw her. She is the humblest person I have ever known. She'd take me out on walks and share the most complicated parts of her

When you have loved and lost, you never look at love the same way again. When you have hurt someone, you never look at love the same way again. When you apologize and fix things, you realise you will never look at love the same way again.  I have walked past people thinking about why someone did what they did and sigh loudly. I have smiled to myself in all places I feel oblivious to thinking about the scenarios I make up in my mind. How a bright red bag catches my eye and I immediately think about painters who are lovers who smear red paint over his lover's breast as he kisses her lush lips. How the sky so strangely orange one day reminds me about a friend and I imagine a conversation I would have with her. How a racing motorbike reminds me  about the incident that almost killed me and how when death looked me in the eye, I shifted from the thought of sheer terror to relief in seconds. 'I was so young, I shouldn't have thought like that' makes me panic and I quickly fin

People never know how to fill the pages of their diary, or how to love someone without hurting them eventually, or how to tell someone that they have found solace in them. But people try. They try to copy the pages of someone's diary, try to amend mistakes, try to look a person in the eye and voice words that are so real that they become the embodiment of happiness. And people fail. They fail to find themselves in what they wrote, they hurt them over and over again, they practise saying things that never touch the intensity of what they want to convey. But people try again.  I have written in so many diaries. But I have completed none. I have tried writing everyday but then realised my life was uneventful. I then tried writing on days when something eventful happened or I was being dramatic but I believed that every moment is worth living for. And then it became a cycle. But eventually along the way, I found myself in those pages. I still remember the day I read through my old diar

A bell in the back of my mind, It keeps counts, one, two, three, The numbers are lost on me now Stitching itself onto my skin,my eyes my conscience, my love. The closet I finally opened has locked me from inside In a bigger, vulnerable, scarier closet. I have nightmares of how people look at me, like A person that doesn't deserve to love Or to be loved. All because of the gender I chose. Four, five, six, I live in a bed of lies, the pillows Have collected the truths I cry about, My sexuality is hidden under the carpet Of understanding It screams everytime someone knocks on the door Only to be muffled by fibres of insecurity And lack of reassurance. Seven, eight, nine I could see the change in people's eyes When I finally walked out They never looked at me the same. My heart pushed me forward Telling me I deserve everything I deserve to experience as much as the next person My life was in shackles but my heart was free And little by little, it help